


The man who found a reason

by 37h4n0l



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy angst probably, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/pseuds/37h4n0l
Summary: From the moment that Nero found himself living with Angelo, he'd been investigating restlessly. Just who was he, really? What he didn't know was that Angelo, himself, was trying to answer the same question.[An AU where Testa isn't present during the massacre and thus isn't killed. Angelo doesn't remain alone; instead they're taken in by the Vanettis, leading to his cohabitation with Nero. Angst-ridden ongoing multichapter.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this for a friend who doesn't like Christmas so I made her a gift to bug her~ <3

**Wind**

 

Nero closed all the windows on that day. There was a wind strong enough to be akin to a tempest outside and he hated cold temperature more than anything else; the fresh air had to go. Some harder blows gave off the impression that the whole mansion was about to fall apart, even prompting Vincent to loudly conversate with some of the subordinates about replacing the wooden beams of the house structure to avoid it collapsing on itself. Nero, from the warm comfort of his own room could hear their words clearly, and despite knowing his father was just trying to outyell the outside noise, he sighed in annoyance. He’d been unawarely staring out in the distance for a few minutes at the yard - where he would’ve preferred to be, if only it wasn’t so goddamn windy. 

 

This position, due to mere boredom, incidentally made him the first one to notice the two figures approaching the house on the small path across the lawn. Two men, a taller and a shorter one, both wearing long, black coats. The suspicion raised by this prompted Nero to stand up and start looking for Vincent, as he knew it could be the start of an ambush from his current knowledge about mafia life. In fact, it reminded him about that strange story his father had often mentioned, in which he had been ‘obligated’ to go after one of his comrades’ family and get his wife and kid taken out. Loyalty, he often said, is important.  _ The most important _ . Nero kept being reminded of this one particular story, which presumably had a didactic value, although he didn’t entirely believe it was true himself. He didn’t get the message either. The whole ‘loyalty’ thing seemed dubious from the start, but perhaps twenty one years of age were too many to ask a question like that.

 

When arriving to the hall, the eldest Vanetti sibling already discovered from the top of the stairs that he had arrived too late to alert Vincent, but also that his worries were unfounded. The Don seemed intent in greeting the two persons who had just entered the house, gesturing them towards the coathanger and then the dining room. None of them seemed to have noticed Nero who thus gained a good chance to examine them unobserved. Father and son, obvious from their similar traits. Their ages seemed close to Nero’s and Vincent’s, in fact; the son was maybe slightly younger than his Vanetti counterpart.

 

“Nero!” Vincent waved at him, disrupting his musings on the guests as he noticed his presence. Nero swiftly descended the stairway, gathering his thoughts to make a good impression.

 

“Your older son?” The unknown man - probably his father’s friend - turned around after depositing his hat on top of his coat on the hanger. 

 

“Yes, this is my boy Nero” Vincent patted the new arrival on his back as soon as he got close enough to the others. “I was afraid he wouldn’t come out of his room, I was just about to call upon him.”

 

“He does look like you, after all.”

 

“I could say the same about yours, Testa.”

 

Both older men had turned towards the boy who had somehow faded into the background of the conversation. 

 

In that moment, Nero had no idea an entirely new period of his life was about to start. In fact, the young man before him didn’t make a great impression, and he found himself paying more attention to the sound of the wind tearing tree branches apart outside rather than his pale, sickly face. He decided not to like this stranger. Arbitrarily and without a precise reason, but he didn’t like him. He preferred simple people, people who opened up and acted friendly, people who talked to him and that he could understand. He forced himself not to make an expression too grim.

 

“My son, Angelo. You’re not much older than him.”

 

Nero snapped out of it when the other man addressed him, smiling along with his Vincent, probably expecting a warm introduction.

 

“I’m Nero Vanetti,” he offered a hand, curling up the corners of his mouth in a rather artificial way, “Nice to meet you.”

 

“I’m Angelo Lagusa, nice to meet you too” came the reply in a bored and absentminded tone. Nero’s eyebrows twitched at the lack of interest displayed before him.

 

A few minutes of conversation, and he got acquainted with the two men’s identities. Testa Lagusa was indeed a friend of Vincent’s, someone from the mafia. In fact, he was still mourning for his wife and other kid who died in some work related action, which explained why both of them were dressed in a formal suit under their coats. The Vanetti Don had some tea made for the guests and they all sat down in the dining room with a lit fireplace in it to contrast the harsh weather outside.

 

Despite the effort, the atmosphere was anything but cozy. Testa seemed to be an honest and good person, but the look on Angelo’s face filled Nero with uneasiness. He looked as if he didn’t want to be there, amber eyes gleaming with hostility even the eldest Vanetti sibling didn’t feel towards him, despite having disliked him from the start. Angelo was slumped back in an armchair, crossing his arms, and he was staring right at Nero, who was on the verge of asking what his problem was.

 

“...And the authorities are after us. They discovered we went into hiding and will surely catch us if we keep roaming the Lawless countryside like we have in the past years.”

 

“I understand.” Vincent spoke thoughtfully, placing a hand on Testa’s shoulder as they sat next to each other on the victorian style sofa. “I can help, of course. Stay here until it’s safe, we have plenty of guest rooms,”

 

“I don’t know how to thank you, Vincent.”

 

“There’s no need. Comrades should stick together.”

 

Nero clenched his fist at the realization. The wind howled outside. So these two were going to live with them? In their house? Why didn’t his father take the risks into account?

 

Vincent called a butler to show the two of them around, leaving the room alongside them, and Nero found himself staring at Angelo Lagusa’s narrow, suit-clad back. His entire appearance was so orderly, unnoticeable, small,  _ polite _ . The opposite of Nero’s or what he would’ve preferred in a friend. Outright  _ scary _ . He wondered if he would ever be able to cohabitate with someone like this.

 

*

 

It was Nero’s task, as the oldest son and possible future Don, to do what he would’ve defined as ‘social dirty work’; anything that had to do with communicating with people, acquiring information about them and refining his conversational skills. He had always found it a bit tiresome; not that he disliked people (quite the opposite, in fact), but the interactions he was forced to have with his father’s coworkers were forced between strict formal limits and Nero’s spontaneity would’ve appeared obnoxious and invasive in the context. He had screwed up many times in the past, embarrassing everyone he had around.

 

He longed for those moments now. Leading Angelo up to his room might have been the most awkward five minutes of his life. The Lagusa - small suitcase and wet coat in hand - wasn’t content with staying silent and practically ignoring Nero, he also shot him a few of his glances. Just when Nero was starting to think he’d gotten used to the strange colour of those eyes he was suddenly forced to look into them again, and it made shivers run down his spine. They arrived to the guest room in question without uttering a single word, then the Vanetti grabbed the key in his pocked and opened the door.

 

“There’s a wardrobe behind the door on the left side, the bathroom is at the end of the corridor” he explained as they entered, Angelo looking uninterested as always, “The bed is, uh, king-size but you can sleep in it alone.”

 

Nero scratched his head in embarrassment - he had made a mistake again. Perhaps he was confused because, his guest being younger than him, he couldn’t determine how polite he had to be, and it’s not like the boy gave many hints at how he wanted to be referred to. Angelo nodded his head as to thank the other, then deposited his few belongings by the bed. 

 

“I can… leave you alone now?” The Vanetti attempted a smile to hide his awkwardness. He took the lack of answer as a yes and was just about to exit the room when he heard the quiet, slightly scratchy sound of Angelo’s voice. He didn’t pay much mind to it before and now it weirded him out a little; he sounded older than he was.

 

“You don’t know anything about my mother and brother’s deaths, do you?”

 

Nero turned around, only to find a surprising layer of hopefulness in those words and on Angelo’s face.

 

“I’m sorry, I have no idea” he sighed. “Maybe I can ask my fa-”

 

“Please don’t bother” the Lagusa interrupted.

 

The older of the two stood there for a second, waiting for an explanation which never came. 

 

“I’m sorry for what happened. Are you recovering?”

 

“Would you recover if this happened to you?” 

 

Angelo’s question was oddly aggressive. It sent Nero into a spiral of thoughts, horrible images of Frate and Fio lying in a pool of blood with no life in their eyes, the knowledge that he’ll never talk to them again, that they’ll never get up. Since his actual mother had died of an illness when he was little, the eldest Vanetti brother considered his sister, Fio, a sort of replacement for her. She was much more mature than girls her age, probably due to the environment they lived in and her frequent encounters with crudeness and violence. Nero would have been able to murder if something happened to his siblings, he was sure. He looked at Angelo with a newfound empathy when he snapped out of it, part of his dislike dissipating.

 

“Why are you staring like that?” The boy raised his eyebrows questioningly, and only then did Nero realize that he had indeed been looking intently at him. Now there was an explanation to why he appeared so sickly; he wasn’t over the tragedy. The Vanetti felt a sudden need to feed him something -  _ this guy is so thin he’s painful to look at _ , he phrased it mentally - maybe make him taste some of his favourite plates. It was an odd thought.

 

“What kind of food do you like?” Nero blurted out, biting his tongue before making up an excuse for his instinctive question. “Because of dinner, you know. I have to tell the cook.”

 

“You have a cook?” Angelo actually snickered, as malicious as that snicker was. He probably found this kind of snobbery ridiculous and it made Nero a little angry.

 

“Anyway,” he continued, “Make me any food you want. I don’t really care.”

 

“There must be something you like” Nero teased. Angelo shot him a killer glance, indicating that they’re not that familiar yet.

 

“Pineapples then.”

 

“For dinner?”

 

“You were the one who asked.”

 

Unfortunately, that evening Angelo couldn’t get the aforementioned pineapples, given that they didn’t have any at home and it was too late to purchase them. Nero wasn’t sure how he would explain the futility of his question, but then again, maybe the Lagusa wasn’t interested in an explanation in the first place.

 

*

 

Later that evening, after he had finished his routine, Nero decided to check up on Angelo. It didn’t occur to him in that moment that he was neglecting Testa, who should’ve been the more important visitor among the two of them; he naturally assumed his father would take care of that, and besides, he was starting to develop some sort of intrigue towards the younger Lagusa. Angelo had been mysterious right from the moment he had entered the Vanetti mansion, but it was the few lines of dialogue he exchanged with Nero that made him  _ interesting _ . He wasn’t a statue or some entity dissociated from their reality; he had his own tastes, the things he cared about, something about him to explore. Nero wanted to know all of it, having a new person around him was like exploring a new continent.

 

Then there was the fact that Angelo had managed to awaken very strong feelings within him in the span of a few seconds. He made Nero realize, with a simple sentence, how much he cherished his family and how devastated he would feel if he lost them. He was an interesting person no doubt.

 

When Nero entered the room currently inhabited by the younger male, he didn’t find him there. The light was turned off and the pajamas they had lent him were still laid on the bed, folded neatly. The Vanetti panicked for a second -  _ What if he left? _ \- but then he noticed Angelo’s small, modest leather bag on the floor, in the same place where he had put it earlier. He sighed in relief and started to wonder where the other had gone, but then his eyes fell onto an open pack of cigarettes on the nightstand.

 

Angelo Lagusa was standing in front of the mansion’s entrance, where Nero joined him a few minutes later. At first, he didn’t notice the other approaching him, and his posture had an unprecedented calmness about it, as if he could only relax when he was completely alone. The warm light emanating from the lamp on the porch was contrasted by the moonlight in front of the Lagusa, illuminating his figure in yellow and cold blue simultaneously; and Nero realized that found the display very aesthetically pleasing. He took notice of how the colours fell on the few patches of pale skin Angelo left uncovered; his face, his neck and the hand holding the cigarette. For a moment, the Vanetti forgot about the situation they were in, who Angelo was or who he, himself was. He enjoyed a few seconds of complete dissociation.

 

“What are you trying to do there?” The boy’s words didn’t wake Nero up too harshly, mostly because they were softer than usual. He seemed tired, he must’ve travelled all day. 

 

“Nothing, I just came to get a smoke.”

 

Angelo gestured at him in silence, half-mockingly, as if he was formally allowing Nero to move besides him. In the meanwhile, the other man had started searching his vest pockets, realizing he had no cigarettes with him. He had an urge to punch himself in the face for not thinking enough before making up a lie.

 

“I forgot to get cigs. Figures” he tried to shrug it off.

 

“Mine are upstairs” Angelo commented absentmindedly.

 

Nero, now standing beside him, turned towards him to look at his face and examining it closely to look for solutions to his problem and quickly regretting the decision. The Lagusa responded by facing him as well, making their eyes meet. A small remark crossed Nero’s mind then; a seemingly insignificant, quiet voice in his head that casually commented on how, strangely, Angelo looked more handsome in the moonlight than he did indoors, and that his long bangs falling into his eyes, softly moved by the remnants of the earlier windstorm, must have been bothering him and perhaps he should brush them away. Thankfully, he didn’t have enough time to do something embarrassing and forever demolishing his reputation with the guests. The Lagusa lifted the hand with the cigarette in it, smoke slightly detracted by the currents, and extended his arm towards the other. It took Nero an embarrassing amount of time to realize he was offering the cigarette.

 

“Oh? I don’t wanna steal it from you” he said quickly.

 

“I don’t mind.” 

 

Angelo’s expression was almost persistent, so the Vanetti gave in and took the cigarette. The boy’s fingerpad brushed against one of his knuckles and it was soft, almost like a child’s. Nero took a sip of the cigarette,  _ that _ cigarette which had been between the other’s lips just a few seconds ago, and taking this fact into consideration made the act inexplicably  _ obscene _ to him. Angelo looked at him with something that could’ve been mistaken for complacency as he inhaled and let the bitter smoke fill his lungs before blowing it out. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness hit Nero and he tried to concentrate and not let his thoughts wander when the Lagusa turned towards the moon again, exposing the bony line of his jaw along with the light hitting it.

 

In those mere minutes, without even talking that much, they became acquainted with each other. They could feel it, because something ticked within both of them and then Nero opened his mouth and spoke, and Angelo listened to him keenly.

 

*

 

“My mother died when I was seven. I could barely comprehend what was happening, the only thing I noticed was her absence… I wasn’t a particularly smart kid, you see. One day she was there, the next day gone.” 

 

Nero finished the cigarette with one last inhale, pressed it on the sole of his shoe and deposited it in the ashtray, shooting a glance at Angelo’s golden eyes to check if the gleam of curiosity was still there. Then he continued.

 

“When it was down to me that she would never come back, I shut myself in for a year. I played alone, went on errands in the wood nearby, did my own things disregarding others. I don’t remember feeling much pain, I concentrated fully on what I was doing at the moment.”

 

He took a breath and looked at the Lagusa again.

 

“Oh, sorry if it sounded like some half-assed advice, I didn’t mean it that way,” he blurted out apologetically a second later, “Deal with this how you think is best.”

 

“I do think you were a smart kid.” Angelo said, ignoring the latest phrase as if to say ‘No problem’. “You found a way of coping that didn’t hurt.”

 

Nero’s pulse fastened before asking the next question. He was uncertain whether it was even appropriate to say what he was about to say, but he took the risk.

 

“Are you hurting now?”

 

“It’s useless to get riled up about such things” Angelo answered apathetically. “You should know the most, isn’t your father the Don? Haven’t you seen people die? It would be unbearable to feel pain for every single one of them.”

 

His lips curled up with cold irony and Nero fought the urge to ask whether  _ his mother and brother _ were really just part of a collective for him, an addition to a heap of corpses. They didn’t say anything afterwards, instead Angelo looked at the other briefly as he stood up to convey that he would go inside. Nero followed him. He said his guest goodnight before their ways parted and he returned to his own room, which wasn’t very distant from Angelo’s.

 

It filled him with relief to know that the boy was more or less fine despite the mourning process, or at least that’s what he took from his cryptic words earlier. He had no clue why he cared for a person he met that day, but Nero knew one thing for sure; he hated seeing people in pain and he had had an ‘off’ feeling about the Lagusa since the first moment. He was glad his concerns weren’t founded, Angelo probably had a gloomy personality by nature. In fact, he looked up to the other man for having the ability to slide over these issues indifferently. 

 

Nero sighed as he brushed his teeth and removed his jacket and vest. Angelo was a weird fellow despite everything. Some aspects of his new cohabitant still annoyed him - he could’ve smiled from time to time, for instance. He made an inner reminder to casually interject this remark in a conversation the next day.

 

*

 

Nero had sat down to take some notes about the day before going to sleep; it helped him put him at ease to vent whatever had happened. As childish as it seemed, he’d been keeping a diary for a few years then. He couldn’t remember when he started, probably a few years after his mother’s death, when he could manage to formulate opinions about the world and self-examine without causing himself pain. He put the cap back on the pen as soon as he finished and he was about to lie down in bed, when he suddenly heard a sound. 

 

For a moment, he attributed it to the wind, being that the weather from earlier that day had made its comeback during these late evening hours. Nero heard sticks and leaves getting torn away like before, but in addition, there was a human voice as well, not much different from the howling of the wind, but distinguishable nonetheless. 

 

Nero closed the door behind himself cautiously as he went out in the corridor, wary of the creaking his feet could produce on the wooden floor despite him wearing socks. The voice sounded like a barely-audible lament - it was more clear from there, where the outside weather didn’t interfere. It took the Vanetti a while to figure out which room it came from and he almost turned around and walked back when the voice died out, but then he heard a thunk that unmistakably led him towards his younger guest. 

 

He approached Angelo’s door and what he heard started to resemble a sob more and more. Nero didn’t care that he had to resort to the same tactics a child would’ve in the situation; he kneeled down and peeked through the keyhole. 

 

It wasn’t the best position to get a clear view. All he caught a glimpse of was an open window, a part of Angelo’s suit - his back or shoulder - as he shook and trembled, then his foot kicking the small nightstand and slamming it against the wall with another loud noise. A flushed cheek and a bleary eye with traces of tears in it, even, a few seconds later. He sat on the bed and cried bitterly, the way one would after holding back for too long. All of his spontaneous movements and gestures conveyed emotions of a genuine and overwhelming strength. 

 

Nero stayed there like a statue, watching Angelo break and crumble into a million pieces behind that door, hidden from everyone else’s sight. For a second, the wind blew so hard it muffled the sobs that came from inside, and it cried, it howled, it laughed at Nero for admiring Angelo’s strength for even a second, a strength which was nothing more than a product of his imagination as an easy way to explain someone.


End file.
